Conspiracy on the Tides

By Adhir Maharaj

John Wolff, ex-detective turned accountant, is currently working for a multi-national group based in Johannesburg. The group have branches scattered across Africa. During a routine financial month-end, Wolff and his team identify significant inconsistencies in the accounts of their Kenyan operation. Initially, Wolff put it down to the new accountant still finding his feet. However, when the country director fails to respond to communication, this raises suspicions. Wolff is then temporarily assigned to visit the Kenyan office to conduct a routine audit. When he tries to make sense of the monthly reconciliations, he finds more inconsistencies. As he digs deeper, he is left with more questions, making his routine work assignment more dangerous. Before long, Wolff has to revisit his past and become a detective yet again but this time it is to stay alive.
He is immersed in an inter-continental adventure filled with action, mystery, suspense, international government agencies; and even romance perhaps. Alone and unsure of whom can be trusted, he is left to his wits and past experience as a detective to survive.
Join Wolff on his hair-raising Conspiracy on the Tide...

About the Author
Adhir Maharaj, an indie-author, is an accountant based in South Africa. He holds a Master’s in Business Administration and a Bachelor of Accounting degree. Between the long hours as an accountant, he finds time to travel, write novels and articles. While the storylines are fictitious, his novels are based on his travel experiences with his wife, Shunai.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adhir Maharaj
• Release date: May 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005212940

Book preview

Prologue

The word ‘piracy’ conjures up images of a man wearing a black patch over an eye, a tricorn with a skull in front, singing an old sea-faring song while dancing on his wooden leg and sipping rum. Generally, a beautiful maiden held captive is always close by.

However, while that is true for children’s story books, piracy in the Horn of Africa is a reality. Every ship that is hijacked and crew member taken hostage is a grim reminder of this scourge that plagues the East Coast of Africa. Apart from the safety of crew members, ships and her cargo, the economies of the countries are also adversely affected. Pirates generally have no interest in the cargo of the ships. Their bounty are the crew members taken as hostages, who are ransomed to their respective countries. Piracy has become something of an organised crime where a ringleader will supply primitive boats and basic weapons. The ransoms are received by the ringleader and the pirates are given their share from the loot.

In spite of an international naval presence, piracy still continues. Piracy cannot be entirely eradicated due to the legality of which countries have jurisdiction in the case. Pirates are apprehended in international waters. The costs of court cases and prosecuting them are exorbitant.

This novel is dedicated to all those people who are involved in the ongoing anti-piracy efforts.

Chapter 1

Da Enzo’s….

Late…

John Wolff drained the last of his cognac as he focussed on the crossword puzzle on the table. He enjoyed word puzzles and would not relent till he solved them. His inquiring mind was the reason that he became a detective and eventually an accountant. Wolff was five foot nine, with black hair worn in a crew cut. The few strands of grey hair scattered across his temple added a sense of wisdom to his appearance. He was a very fine athlete. In his strong frame, he maintained a six-pack that took hours moulding in the gym. As he pencilled in the last word, his wide angular jaw and square chin broke into a broad smile that spread across his face.

Solved it? chirped Andrea as she passed by.

Wolff smiled back coyly. You know it, Rea. His dark brown eyes lit up as he looked up at her. Andy was her common nickname. Wolff preferred Rea. It was much more personal.

Please bring me the bill when you pass by again?

Andrea Reid was the hostess who was well liked by her patrons. She considered each patron like a family member. If her calves were anything to go by, it was obvious that she had spent hours in the gym. She looked ever so sexy in her black figure-hugging knee-length dress. It accentuated her hourglass figure, which she had shaped through hours of Tabata. Her face was the epitome of Zen. She always had this calmness which she gained from the eastern discipline of yoga. Her black hair was perfectly draped over her shoulders which highlighted the most angelic smile.

As the restaurant door opened, fingers of ice wrapped itself around the warm diners. Virat entered, engaged in an animated chat on his mobile. The noise from the wintery evening rain drowned out his voice. Virat spotted Wolff at a table and ended the call on his mobile as he walked up.

Hi Andrea, greeted Virat, pausing to peck her cheek and continued to take his seat. Give me what he is having and get him a refill. Wolff motioned to her to go ahead.

Virat is a fourth generation Indian. His forefathers had resettled in South Africa as part of the Indian diaspora. He is a trained accountant that had relocated from the familial home of Durban to the bright lights of the big city. Virat stood at five foot eight but had the physique of a football player. Virat cycled in many of the country’s races. He was particularly proud of learning to cycle, train and participate in a 50 km city race in under three weeks. He credited this achievement to his previous employer who was a fine athlete and pushed him hard in the office and on the tracks. He was fiercely loyal to people he cared about and to a cause he thought had merit.

His word was his honour. He was very old school in his thoughts and beliefs. This often resulted in hilarious dialogues between his wife, Hrishtaa and himself. Hrishtaa was also a trained accountant who embraced the modern pleasures of life.

You seem to be very happy this evening, Virat.

I am Mr Wolff. Remember the job I had interviewed for at Interpol? After the interview, things went quiet, figured I struck out. Then, out of blue… I got the call.

Congrats Bud, you deserve it.

Thanks Wolff.

What did Hrishtaa say? asked Wolff.

She was over the moon. She knew how badly I wanted this. I think she is more relieved to have me stop nagging about it.

So, what exactly will the position entail?

This unit focusses on investigations and audits of commercial fraud in Africa, specifically our regional neighbours. It involves conducting lifestyle audits on businesses and individuals alike. The unit tries to determine if financial transactions are linked to any terror cells.

Sounds intense?

We investigate how various criminals or terrorist cells create and move funds. Basically, follow the money.

The White Widow? So, the unit would have followed her right here in Johannesburg?

My unit involves investigating the commercial aspect – we follow the paper trail. So, the unit did trace her down to South Africa when she gave birth – well, combined with efforts from the CIA, MOSSAD and MI.

As if on cue, the waiter brought the bill with the card machine. As Wolff was a regular, the waiters could read when he was ready to call it a night. As Wolff swiped his Amex card, he turned to Virat. It’s on me. Catch up tomorrow. It has been a long day. We will celebrate your great news by the weekend when Hrishtaa can grace us with her presence.

With that, Wolff got up, pecked Rea on her cheek and headed out into the blistery Johannesburg cold. The city is located on the highveld plateau at an elevation of 1070 metres above sea level and experiences bitter winters. That night, it was only a few degrees above zero.

Chapter 2

His alarm reminded him that all good things do come to an end. Wolff staggered out of bed to the shower and dressed for the office. Looking into the mirror, he realised how much he preferred office attire as opposed to the blue police uniform that he was forced to wear back when he was a cop. Office attire was so much more comfortable although the blue police uniforms did give one a sense of authority and respect.

He put on a fresh pot of coffee and settled down with the newspaper before heading out. The usual crime and grime related issues are common features in the South African newspapers to which he was instinctively drawn to. Old habits die hard. The country was undergoing a rebirth and crime had increased drastically. A large portion of it pertained to organised crime that Wolff had managed in his cop days. After draining the last bit of the coffee, he headed to the garage and started his van. Wolff was freezing.

By the time Wolff had negotiated the maze of desks and greeted over two dozen colleagues at their plush Sandton office, he was already warm. He removed his overcoat while he downloaded his emails. Judging by the number in his inbox, he already knew that it was going to be a crazy day at the office.

He worked for a multinational company that was part of a group. The group had global operations and the Head Office was based in Sandton, Johannesburg. The company was renowned boat traders and have had much success in African markets. They utilised factories in South Korea where 37% of the world’s ships were manufactured. Wolff’s primary job description was preparing the monthly management reports and operational management for the African operations. These were presented to the board and shareholders. The deadlines were tight and sometimes unrealistic, but he learnt to roll with the punches.

Wolff at times felt like a caged animal in his 2 x 3 cubicle. With companies growing in size, most firms now moved toward open-plan seating. This offered no privacy as he was used to the freedom that the uniform gave to him. The current job allowed him to travel into the womb of Africa. Being an accountant was apparently more prestigious than being a cop, but there was more honour in policing. Being a cop allowed you to make a difference in the lives of people. You could literally see the benefits of your hard days’ labour. It can be heartbreaking when bad guys get away with crime, but it is emotionally rewarding when apprehending them.

Wolff always wanted to become an accountant, but circumstances made him choose policing. He came from humble beginnings where both his parents were civil servants. Funds were tight so Wolff enlisted in the police service. He made detective (second grade) at the Serious and Violent Crimes Unit after starting off as a ‘beat cop.’

When Virat was hijacked, Wolff was the lead detective who had just been promoted. This set the scene for a long, close friendship. It was Virat who pushed him to finish college and qualify with a commerce degree through night classes. After two close encounters in the service, Wolff had to make a decision. The final nail in the coffin came when he was shot. The bullet missed his brachiocephalic vein by millimetres. He and his partner had responded to a home invasion. Unsure if the suspects were still present, they did a room by room sweep to clear the site for the suspects and secure the premises. As Wolff cautiously entered the master suite, an explosion blew him off his feet. It felt as though someone was forcing a hot branding iron deep into his chest. Paralysed for about thirty seconds, he felt as if he had lost control of his senses. After about a minute, which felt like eternity, he began hearing gunshots and the voice of his partner radioing for EMS and shouting, ‘Officer down!’ That was the day, Wolff realised that he had to change his career. As he fingered his scar through his rich blue cotton shirt, he was brought back to reality by the strong aromatic Colombian coffee that he was hooked on.

Morning Wolff, how are you this morning? Joe was leaning his forearms onto Wolff’s cubicle, looking down on him. Wolff could not help but wonder if it was his ginger hair or blue eyes that made him look more animated.

Joe was Irish by birth, a man of few words, extremely intelligent and highly textbook. He was hilarious at times and known for his quirky comments but ran a tight ship. Joe did not appreciate excuses and was results driven.

Good morning Joe, not too bad. How are you?

Cold, but good, chimed Joe in a thick Irish accent. Wolff, I read your month end report and noted your action plans. To summarise, I agree with your concerns regarding the financial transactions. We need more information. Victor’s answers leave more questions and Mustafa didn’t respond.

That’s about the size of it. Yeah, answered Wolff.

I’m thinking you need to visit East Africa soon. Based on the value of transactions, I have no level of comfort.

I agree. It was part of my recommendation – perhaps a simple internal audit. I’m wondering if Victor is not in over his head.

We have not received any contact from Mustafa for a while. His mobile goes to voicemail and when we call the office, we are told he is travelling. They offer to relay our messages, but to date, he hasn’t called back. This is not professional, being Country Director.

It’s not like him. Have you tried mailing him?

Yes. I received his ‘read receipt’ notifications. So, he does read them – or somebody does.

So why does he not respond?

Here Wolff, Joe mumbled handing him a stack of emails. You were a detective, what do you make of this?

Wolff accepted the papers and studied them intently. When did you get this? he asked curiously.

Over the course of the last few days, offered Joe.

Wolff spied Joe over the pages and then continued reading with a concerned frown. After the email where the tender process is concluded, the method of penmanship changes. The older emails indicate that the sender understood punctuation concepts; however, the later emails indicate a lack of understanding. It is extremely rare for a person to change their usual style of writing so suddenly – in this case over a day. The writer has changed the spelling of ‘the’ to ‘da’ and strangely begins referring to the Kenyan office as ‘unit’ as opposed to ‘branch.’ This seems very peculiar.

Still think we good there? asked Joe.

…this does not make any sense… replied Wolff deep in thought.

I want to believe all is well, but I can’t help shake this strange sense of suspicion, Joe mumbled under his breath.

Did Mustafa still travel to Tanzania, considering Victor is relatively new? asked Wolff while studying the emails.

He does and VPNs to our network remotely, answered Joe. This is the first time he has behaved this way.

I can’t understand how Mustafa would entrust a multi-million dollar operation to somebody who has only just begun working.

In a complex business, I just find it strange that after Brian’s accident, Victor had only just commenced but things have been running smoothly. Without discounting his experience, it is a difficult business to knuckle down, said Joe.

Brian was the previous accountant who managed the finances and operations of the branches in East Africa. He was a strong leader who always showed a healthy monthly bottom line with efficient cost containment. Mustafa could easily rely on him while he travelled seeking new business. One evening, Brian was driving home, and a truck had literally T-boned his car. The truck had run a red light and drove off immediately after. Brian was critically injured. He was almost dead when he was found by a passing motorist who contacted the local authorities. While unconscious, the doctors had to put him in an induced coma to ease the swelling on his brain, and he had been on a ventilator for three months since the accident. Doctors advised that the prognosis did not look good. The results were changes in the business and the employment of Victor as a temporary replacement until Brian returned.

So, you want me to go looking for him in Africa? I may have the investigative background but surely you could involve the local cops if something untoward happened to him? quizzed Wolff.

That is the problem, we don’t know if anything has happened to him and quite frankly, I don’t care about him. There may well be a plausible explanation for this. It is the welfare of the business that concerns me. It has been two months since we last spoke with him, and this is worrying. The numbers don’t look good, and the Board will not take too kindly to our reasons without substance.

It is worrying…so when do you suggest I leave? We are between month-ends, so now would be suitable for a four- or five-night trip, suggested Wolff.

Arrange with Jessie. See if you can leave tomorrow morning, Joe trailed on.

Chapter 3

Thomas, please dress our table with some silverware, napkins and menus. Wolff was famished. The restaurant was filling up for the evening dinner. Diners were engaged in their conversations.

It’s okay Thomas, chimed Rea. I got this table. Focus on the other diners.

I’m guessing you guys are having your usual poison this afternoon, laughed James as he carefully placed their drinks on their coasters.

By then Andrea finished setting their table with bread sticks, olive oil and other condiments.

In this cold, nothing warms you up better than a cognac. Virat was looking into his glass as he swirled the golden liquid content, watching it dance to a silent tune that only he could hear.

If you say so Virat, but I would prefer Rea to warm me up. Wolff was looking at Andrea as she welcomed some diners and led them to their seats.

The two continued with idle chatter till Andrea delivered their meals and then left to greet other diners who had just walked in. Due to her friendship with Wolff and Virat, she would personally attend to them and join in for a meal or drink at times in between her hosting.

The gentle lighting accentuated her luscious lips. Wolff had imagined nibbling on her lip as he forked his way through the smoked mussel and clam antipasto. Virat broke his pane carasau bread and dipped it in the antipasto. The thin crispy bread was another of his favourites. One can read a sheet of music through it due to its thinness. Hence its common name, Italian Music Sheets.

You keep trying Wolff and you will always speak to her hand. You hit the friend – zone… big time!

We shall see.

As Andrea passed, she smiled at Wolff who signalled that he was ready to order their main course. She headed to their table and sat right next to Wolff and snuggled up under his arm. Her hair smelled like lavender. He could feel her soft almond and honey-hued cheek against his arm. She felt lovely.

Guys, it’s so cold this evening, I wish I could fly off to those exotic locations with you tomorrow. Illicit thoughts ran through Wolff’s mind over this poor innocent soul.

Wolff, perhaps you can warm her up with your trademark hugs, chirped Virat who enjoyed seeing Wolff squirm.

I wish they were exotic… poor roads, over-crowded streets, questionable food, no tap water. You would prefer being right here. Wolff tapped the table for added emphasis. I will have the Recco Gamberi with penne, please. Wolff had no intention of holding her as he would probably try to kiss her symmetrical lips.

Virat ordered his typical Chicken Masala Ravioli with extra spice and Andrea left the duo to welcome a regular diner.

Da Enzo’s was a genuine Roman trattoria. The typical Italian restaurant had a very homely feel with low lighting. The walls were adorned with little frescos of Italy. Families were filling up the family tables, while the stand-alone tables were occupied by a few couples whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. The bar seating was sparsely occupied; this was generally busy on weekends when diners waited for a table. Fresh tomato, pecorino, basil, and chilli scented the air with their delicious aromas. The house red wine was a smooth accompaniment to many of the Italian dishes. The two men put aside the monochrome menus, designed with the marvels of Italy, including the works of the Renaissance Masters, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the beautiful gondolas of Venice and the Colosseum among other places.

You really dig her, don’t you? Virat spied Wolff over the rim of his glass as he took a swig of his cognac.

Yes Virat, she is lovely.

What is the problem though? Why are you so shy in her presence?

Wolff blushed. Virat was right. He could read women. He knew what they were thinking and how to engage them. With her, it is different. She has a bubbly, energetic spirit. I am afraid that after her traumatic experience, she may not be ready for a serious relationship. If I approach her, she may reject me altogether. May even lose our friendship that I value more than anything.

But how would you know… how would you feel if you saw her draped around the arms of some loser?

I know what you mean Virat, but she was really broken after that experience. The thing is, I come here every day just to see her. By seeing her, I know she is okay. By hearing her voice, I know she is okay. Her radiant smile brightens up my day. Being near her still gives me butterflies.

Damn Wolff! That strong hey? Virat went quiet.

This feeling that I have for her is really strong. I feel like my chest is her armour. Wolff took a sip and looked into his empty glass, deep in thought. I always want to be there for her – to protect her. But if I play her on the level, these feelings may frighten her.

Andrea is a firm believer in the universe. She ascribes to the school of thought wherein the world is in